Avoir Mal
by Clear Rain
Summary: Just a look at what a normal school day is probably like... and Val and Jamie are sick.
1. La Classe de Français

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is my first IaHB fic, so I'm really sorry if the characters seem not-themselves. Also sorry about the large quantity of French in this first chapter…uuuugh, I wrote it right after writing a French essay, so I kind of had it on the brain. I promise I'll actually start something somewhat resembling plot sometime in the very near future. :-P Criticism is veeeeeeeery welcome, 'cause I know this could use a lot of work. Sorry it's so short and boring right now….

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, no money, don't sue.

"Bonjour, classe!" Monsieur LeBon eyed the class with a deadly stare. "Comment allez-vous ce matin? Comment est-ce que vous passiez vos week-ends?"

Hank Beecham sunk down in his chair, trying to capture that mysterious "don't-call-on-me" slouch. He must appear attentive while not overly brilliant or interested. He shifted uneasily, lacking the cover of Jamie Waite in front of him.

"Ah! Monsieur Beecham!" Hank rolled his eyes. That slouch needed work. "Ton ami, Monsieur Waite, oú est-il ce matin?"

"Ummmmm…" Hank straightened, scrambling for a probable answer as to Jamie's whereabouts. At least he wouldn't have to use the past tense. "Je…je crois il est mauvais."

Hank sighed in relief, wondering why some of his classmates were stifling giggles.

"Oui, Monsieur Beecham, I know that Monsieur Waite is evil, but what is particularly wrong with him _this morning?_ Utilisez le verbe _avoir_ Monsieur Beecham. _Avoir._ Je crois que Monsieur Waite _a mal_ ce matin, oui? Et quoi d'autres expressions est-ce qu'on veut utiliser avec avoir?"

And Hank was off the hook, slouching comfortably as Monsieur LeBon spouted off the other expressions with the verb "avoir." Hank dutifully opened his notebook, copying down "a mal—to be sick" and circling it with a careful hand. He paused to wonder if Jamie really was sick, or if he was just ditching again. Not like ditching even really affected Jamie's grade any. That kid couldn't get a bad grade in French if he tried to…he just pulled B+ after miraculous B+.

Hank turned his attention back to Monsieur LeBon. "Ouvrez vos livres, classe!" He exclaimed excitedly. "Tournez à la page quatre-vingt dix-sept: les quotations fameux."

Hank dredged his book from his backpack, pausing to translate the page number: four twenties, a ten, and a seven. 97. He wondered if the French really said numbers like that, or if Monsieur LeBon just invented that to keep them busy.

  



	2. Honors Calc

"..page 97, 2-46 even, 54, 58, 61 and 62."

Tyler Connell glanced furtively at the clock. Usually, he loved math, but today his Honors Calculus class crept by like…something slow and creepy. He just wanted out.

"…the vertices." Oooooookay, he'd just totally spaced that point. He'd have to ask his table partner about that one tomorrow.

Thankfully, the bell rang. Tyler shoved everything into his backpack, forgoing organization just this once. As he sped out of Calculus, he barely missed running straight into Hank running out of French.

"Hey, Hank!"

"Tyler, my man! Hey, do you know if Jamie's sick? He wasn't in Monsieur LeBon's this morning."

"Yeah, I think he caught that bug that's been going around. Nasty stuff. Half our team's out with it."


	3. Home Sick

Val dragged her eyelids open. Uuuugh. She couldn't remember ever feeling this miserable. Blearily, she fumbled for her alarm clock. The block numbers cheerily declared that it was 10:27. 10:27! Val panicked, trying in vain to get up, but ending up on the floor instead.

"Val, honey," her mom called as she rushed into her room and helped her back onto her bed. "It's okay. I called Mrs. Stevenson in the attendance office and she said she'd get Tyler to bring your homework over for you. Brooke has a note for Alex, too. Everything's all taken care of."

"I can't…miss…" Val began sleepily.

"Yes, you can. It won't hurt you to take one day off. Now all I want you to do is rest and concentrate on getting better, okay?"

"Mmph," Val answered fuzzily. Mrs. Lanier smoothed a lock of hair from her daughter's brow before leaving her to sleep off the nasty bug.


	4. History

Caitie Roth eyed the clock. _Still_ only 10:27. History seemed to crawl by even more slowly than usual, Mr. Kershaw dully recounting a dull Civil War battle. **Kershaw's one of Kingsport's finest,** Caitie thought wryly, **his arrogance rivaled only by his extensive aptitude to induce slumber.** She wondered absently where Val was. She hadn't been at her locker all morning. It really wasn't like her at all to miss school. Maybe she'd finally gotten some sense knocked into her, Caitie thought with a smirk. Come to think of it, she hadn't seen Jamie or Brianne today, either. Maybe she was just bad luck and caused all her best friends to fall terribly ill. This thought made her chuckle as she settled in for a looong 4th period.


End file.
